


So Green and Pale

by longwhitecoats



Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, Horror, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 19:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17147732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/pseuds/longwhitecoats
Summary: Macbeth reveals the true horror of his tale.





	So Green and Pale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raspberryhunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryhunter/gifts).



They are at the gates. I write now in haste by candlelight, in the hope that this last confession may reach some listening ear before it is too late. The darkness is almost complete, and a green shadow falls. They say my wife has died; a mercy; I shall follow her soon.

It began in the fog on a broad moor not far from here—though now I know it was not fog. But I shall reveal all in its proper order. Banquo and I rode away from battle, still covered in red blood, to discover three women clad in silver, dancing around a fire so bright I could not look at it. They spoke in tongues and consulted strange oracles, texts or artefacts I did not recognize. Banquo called them witches, and I hailed them so. And they were supernatural indeed, for they knew my name. I beg you to believe that I was not mad then—though not yet in my right mind either, as later I would understand. I was decieved, yes, but not confused. I listened to what they spoke. And they said I would be king.

What man can resist such a promise, delivered to him by auspicious riders of the air? Though I know my name will live on as a byword of treachery and usurpation, I have comforted myself these final days with the knowledge that I acted virtuously; and yet not virtuously, for in the first moments of this tragic history it was not love of country, but love of power, which moved my hand.

Their voices were breathy as they called; they had strange veils, almost of glass, and collars of silver too. _Hail, Macbeth_ , they said, _Thane of Cawdor, and king hereafter_. They spoke further, urging me, though I will not record their words, for some of it was secret matter which may fall into the hands of the enemy, and others than I may pay the price. Banquo did not hear, and in that I was lucky.

When we greeted the king, that king I had known for so many years, the witches’ words seemed as insubstantial as the air. How could what they said be true? For this was Duncan, steadfast and generous, the King of Scotland. And yet in that very moment, Duncan pronounced me Thane of Cawdor, and I learned of the sudden execution of the previous thane as we journeyed toward my lands. They surprised him in the night, said a page; there was no warning; and through the door came a green shadow.

 _A green shadow?_ I said. _How can a shadow have a color?_ But in my heart, I believed the tale. Something sinister was abroad in Scotland. The Thane of Cawdor had been loyal to a fault, a valiant warrior and supporter of the throne. Why should he die so suddenly—unless it were true? Unless he had uncovered Duncan’s secret?

I watched him as we rode through the wood, and I could not tell if the green light that lay upon him was merely the reflection of the leaves. I fell behind and gave myself to thought.

My wife greeted this news with more trepidation than the tales would have you believe. My darling wife! Still beautiful, though touched with silver now; still fierce as any man ahorse, and deadlier when roused. How many sleepless nights have I turned to her for strength and comfort since the darkness began to spread! Were it not for her, I should wonder always if this were the right course, and if I had done as I ought. But my will is only a tender sapling, where hers is mighty oak. I know my choice was right. She chose it.

We planned together while the house made ready for bed, and she crept off to drug the servants’ drinks while I prepared my heart. To kill a king—! No loyal retainer dreams of such a thing; as I waited in my darkened chamber, I felt a great strength pulling me back from the brink, as of many arms or vines grasping at me. But I thought of Duncan as I stood, of all my memories through the years, and I seemed to see double: once, as I knew him to be, a greybeard with a noble mien; and once, as something else entirely, too horrible to name. The images crossed each other in my brain, like a mirror glimpsed by candlelight. I took up the dagger and crept upon Duncan as he slept.

Reader, no earthly words can describe to you what I found there! O god, what horror! Not a night has passed since that doomed hour that I have not dreamed, nor seemed to see with my waking eyes, the hateful vision which lay in that bed! They call them “monsters” that are laid out in the town for curious visitors to see at a price of ten pennies; but call it not a _monster_ that is a mere prodigy of birth, nor even a man with a dog’s head, nor the Antipodeans who have one foot and their faces in their stomachs. The name of _monster_ belongs to only one, the chief and paramount example, wrapped in a pale green shadow: their king.

I found myself back in my chamber, my hands wet with a dark green substance. I had let fall the daggers and my wife was speaking to me. I could not hear what she said. My head was filled with a buzzing sound. She took up the daggers and left, and when she returned, she led me to bed.

Brief, then, was my reign. I was crowned with little fanfare, as most of the nobility fled. Some I suspected of collaboration; some few might even be of Duncan’s kind; many were simply afraid, whether of the murderous usurper or what was found in Duncan’s room at dawn I could not say. We shored up the foundations of the keep and set patrols on the moors, feasting our men as often as we could to secure their loyalty and keep them close. There was another motive, too: for the witches had told me to eat none of Duncan’s food, as it contained the glamour which kept me from seeing him truly. It was in these weeks that I began to see how corrupted and diseased was my kingdom. Men I had known to be of stout heart and hale body suddenly seemed to my eyes drained and wasted; the golden fields were barren and scabbed with the diggings of feral animals; and even my looking glass revealed to me a creature ravaged and preyed upon—and not by time only. Only Banquo looked stout as ever. Banquo, ever at Duncan’s side, and now mine.

I knew I must kill him.

Say what you will about that notorious feast; I felt no guilt or shame at Banquo’s murder. But there is not a man alive who can kill his friend and kill only the body. The love lives on, even when it is poisoned. Even when you know the depth of his treachery. Banquo betrayed all humankind with his deeds, and he deserved to die. So too did Macduff, along with the horror he called his wife and their grotesque spawn. I regret only that he escaped that doom; I do not regret the orders I gave. But I would not be a man if I did not mourn what I loved.

My wife, they say, is dead. She began to turn.

But I must finish my story. There was little time before their forces returned, I knew. I went once again onto the moors, following the reports of my scouts, until I found my silver women. They were making something; I could not tell what. It seemed that fell spirits flew about their heads in which I saw strange visions of the past and future. I begged them for help. I believe they knew that all was lost.

Yet they told me this much: that I should last until Birnam Wood came to Dunsinane Hill. And that _no man of woman born should harm Macbeth_.

Small comfort, perhaps. But I would fain die at the hands of the enemy, not die mistaken for an enemy by a friend.

Last night the green shadow was sighted from the castle walls. We called in the banners and they camped before the walls. In the morning, the whole of Birnam Wood had been lifted into the air and dropped on top of the outer walls from a great height. Every man was crushed, along with the forward wall.

Macduff is coming. I hear him in the halls. The screaming has begun. I pledge that I will kill him or die in the attempt, though it burn my eyes from my head to look at him revealed. The witches are at my window; I deliver this unto their hands. God save us.

* * *

_Relic of the Battle of Dunsinane Hill, preserved by the captain and lieutenants of the United States rocketship Hecate, the first space-and-time vessel to return intact from a jump. Captain Zainab Awan, Lieutenant Linda Brown, and Lieutenant Jessica Sanchez-Weissberg would go on to become heroes of the Martian Time War. An interview with Lt. Sanchez-Weissberg can be viewed elsewhere in the exhibit._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying it's aliens... but it's aliens.
> 
> Thanks for an amazing prompt, raspberryhunter! I had a lot of fun writing this & I hope it's everything you dreamed. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, Dr_Whom.


End file.
